The Baker's Daughter (Working Title) | #Wattys2018

Chapter Two

Since her first adventure into the small village just beyond the hill, Rosalinda, under the careful scrutiny of Tom, slowly began to explore much more of the world around her, from small towns hidden between craggy mountains, to larger towns and cities that resided by the sea. These were her favourite kinds of towns; the ones where she could smell the salt on the air and feel the briskness of a cold sea breeze, and where she first encountered the sea, an immense body of water she had never imagine existed until now. One day, she hoped that her father would let her go one of the boats that bobbed in the harbor as the tide swelled around them and glittered under the sun. 

But they were there strictly for business. Of course, that only meant that she was never to stray far enough that Tom couldn't call her if needed, and business to her became another term for 'adventure'. Of course, she did begin to weave her own web of connections. It seemed that workmen were keen to dote on the only granddaughter of the great James Cobbler, and she often returned with many, albeit, simple gifts from her travels. 

But as she grew older, he Father grew more fragile, and soon she became scared to even set foot past her village, for the need that she may have to rush home at any moment. And one fateful winter, just as the frost began to thaw and give way to fresh greenery, her Father grew fatally ill. 

Business seemed to slow without her Father at the helm, and soon enough, even Tom's delivery's dwindled.

What was to happen to the Cobbler's legacy? With only a daughter there was no male successor to the business. Many eyes turned to Faithful Tom, who had been loyal to the family since the very beginning, but her father had made it clear; The family business was to stay within the family, and while Tom was as close to being part of the family as possible, he did not carry the Cobbler name with him.  

Perhaps it was the end of the business, many thought, and so the rumours began to spread of James' illness and the inevitable end of a decades-old venture, for without a successor, and with James Cobbler the Second's unyielding stubbornness, the business had nowhere left to turn. But James Cobbler the Second batted away these rumours, for he did have a successor, and with her network of friends throughout the Kingdom, there was no one better than Rosalinda Cobbler, and no one more trusted than Faithful Tom to guide her through her hardships. 

But Rosalinda cared naught for the family business. Her Fathers' lustrous dark hair had grown grey and brittle, and his usually firm face had grown smaller and translucent. Those warm and rough strong hands that she had adored throughout her growing years had grown thin and trembled constantly, and he could no longer walk around the cottage, let alone the Millhouse, to spur on his employes through the beginning of spring. 

Her mother had grown quiet and spent most of her waking days locked behind the doors of her husband's sickroom, afraid of and resigned to his coming death. She too had grown ill-looking, her usually rose cheeks and kind round face pasty and gaunt, and her beautiful red hair that she had passed down to her daughter no longer as full as it had been; it hung lank around her face, unwashed and undecorated. 

Business, for the moment, fell into the hands of Tom, but deliveries had all but ceased, and the Mill had remained silent for quite some time. 

The meadows around the cottage started to look bleak to Rosalinda. Those magical days she spent with her Mother and Father frolicking around in the tall grasses chasing after insects seemed to hang in the fog of early mornings like a haunting ghost, and the bird calls she had loved to wake up to every morning began to sound far-off, no longer melodious but empty and lonely. The river that usually rushed by had frozen over and remained silent. 

The news of James Cobbler the Second's passing blazed through the Kingdom like wildfire, and all activity in every Cobb's bakery ceased. The Cobbler household fell into a state of mourning, and Rosalinda's poor Mother became a mere shell of what she used to be, perched by the cold fire in the very room her Father had passed, wrapped only in a thin shawl with eyes glazed over, staring at the old ashes with a vacant expression on her face.